


In the name of Dante

by ChiaKairi



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Dark Will Graham, Domestic Bliss, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, My First Fanfic, Porn With Plot, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Season/Series 04, Smut, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23563729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiaKairi/pseuds/ChiaKairi
Summary: Post fall.WIll Graham and Hannibal Lecter are on the run, trying to find a place in the world, leaving their traumatic past behind.Someone gets in their way.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 175
Collections: Just Fuck Me Up 2020, Just Fuck Me Up.





	In the name of Dante

**Author's Note:**

> My first #Hannigram fanfiction and my first fanfiction here on AO3!  
> Please enjoy!  
> English is not my first language, but I hope you like it.

[ ](https://postimages.org/)  
  


This is unexpected.

Will stops running and tries to stabilize his breath.

Breathe in, breathe out.

There’s almost no light at all in the alley. The nearest street lamp is flickering with a faint buzzing, painting a disturbing sketch on the walls and in the paddle at his feet. It's raining heavily now, some droplets manage to run away from a strand of curly hair on his forehead and land on his cheek.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Footsteps behind him.

That man is following him, there’s no doubt. Is not the first time they bump into each other. There’s something annoying in the way he looks, in the way he talks. Everything about him is annoying. That's just an unfortunate coincidence.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Will says.

The man is surprised. Will can feel it even without looking. After almost two months living with Hannibal, everyone else seems so easy to predict, so legible.

“Neither do you, I think.”

He's trying to keep it cool, but his voice is already judging. He’s sure. He’s sure he must have caught his prey. Right there, in that filthy alley, there’s no way Will can escape. He’s not armed, while the policeman surely has a gun. Even if its past midnight and he probably finished his shift a few hours ago, he’s still out there, trying to do his job as best as he can.

_I was like that too, years ago. But now it feels so weird._

What is just, what is wrong? What’s legitimate, what’s a crime? Will doesn’t know anymore. His sense of morality is deeply wounded and this new reality almost feels like a distant dream.

Will turns around, slowly. He tilts his head, annoyed by the flickering light reflecting on his glasses. The man is taller than him, he wears a heavy coat, drenched in rain.

Will’s mind is already working furiously. The only way to win this, is taking him by surprise. His eyes are adapting to the faint light, now he can see his face: his traits are a little too sharp, his nose is a little too long, but his body looks strong. Maybe stronger than his. But what about his mind? Is it brilliant enough?

“Why were you running, Mr. Jacobson?” the policeman asks.

“It’s raining, agent. I'm not particularly fond of soaked clothes, are you?”

“Well, it looks like it’s a little too late for that.”

“It looks like it. I think I’ve lost my way. This city is so intricate, with all its little allays and narrow streets…”

“You don’t look like the type to have a bad sense of direction, Mr. Jacobson”.

One step closer. Will slowly puts his hands in his pockets, looking for the cutter he’s always hiding in a whole in the fabric. It's almost like a chisel, but the blade is a little longer. As soon as his soft thumb meets the cold of the cutter, he feels a pleasurable jolt of adrenaline.

A small chisel against a service revolver.

_This is gonna be interesting._

“Well sometimes, in life… you get lost in thoughts, so lost that you can’t even find your way back home anymore.” Will smiles, staring directly at him. The agent is now just a few feet away. His whole body is on alert, his eyes are trying to find the slightest crack in his mask, just a sign to finally be sure of what he probably have already guessed.

“You don't look lost. So why were you following me so insistently?” Will asks.

“I just find that there’s something about you and your distinct… friend. Something that doesn’t feel quite right. So, I did a little research.”

“Oh… you’ve looked. How much time did it take you? The whole afternoon? The whole day?”

The man’s eyes sharpen with a spark of irritation.

 _Bingo_.

“You’re not just tourists. You’re not here to have a good time wandering around London Eye” he spits every single word out.

_Rude._

“So. What are we doing here? What is your guess? You studied all day, there’s no way you still don’t know”.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you. I know who you are. Mr. Jacobson.”

“Then tell me.”

“I don’t know how you two managed to get this far after all you've done but… Mr. Jacobson is definitely not your real name.”

“And what’s my real name. Say it”

The agent smiles, visibly annoyed.

“Will Graham.”

Will hears the shot in the exact same moment he expected it to be. Danger makes him act fast, makes his mind clearer and his body snappier. He throws himself on the ground, getting even more wet. It's freezing, but he feels hot. Anger boils in his veins – _why is this man here, why is he trying to ruin everything, it was going so well_ – but at the same time he can see an incomparable chance standing right in front of him. The chance to fight again and feel _so alive._

Will holds onto his sharp cutter and takes his aim, throwing it with force.

The policeman screams in pain when the tiny but effective blade pierces his flesh, precisely in the middle of the strong flesh of his thigh.

Another shot and Will rolls on the ground because he knows the bullet almost hit his shoulder and his old wound burns for an instant. The policeman is not trying to kill him, not yet, but surely he doesn't mind hurting him in order to catch him. He knows who Will Graham is.

Will jumps again, using all the strength in his arms to hug the man’s waist, and throws him on the ground.

Another shot, but it misses. Will has to use all his body weight to keep him down. He manages to throw the gun away from the man’s reach as soon as the agent falls, losing the grip on his weapon.

_No need to kill him._

Will fights, gritting his teeth, annoyed by the rain falling on his face and the persistent strands of hair covering his eyes. The agent is strong, as he had predicted. When he punches Will with a merciless hit, he grunts in pain and opens his eyes to be sure to not lose lucidity.

“You… helped a serial killer escape and now you’re on his side, right? Your friend, he’s Hann-”

Will hits, and hits hard. He sees blood blooming on his opponent's face and it’s surprisingly amusing. London is too grey, and too rainy. Red is like a pretty tulip among all that boring black & white.

“Our fame has reached England too, I see”, Will breathes. Suddenly he jolts, feeling a sharp sting of pain somewhere near his hip. When he lowers his eyes, he sees the man angrily cutting him with his own chisel, ripping the fabric of his shirt.

The pain makes him angrier.

He should be home, safe, warm and dry, but no, this _goddamn_ asshole has decided to be so earnest all of a sudden.

Breathing heavily, he throws himself back and off of him, grabbing the cutter and pulling it out of his own body. The agent is already lying on his belly and furiously reaching for the gun.

Will feels a familiar adrenaline itching the palm of his hands, his head foggier, blood pulsing in his ears. He grabs the man’s foot, pulling him back. There’s no hesitation. The cutter sinks into the soft skin of the man’s neck, from the right side. Blood is warm on Will’s hand. Red paints the sleeve of his white shirt, the coat, the young man’s cheek. A red petal lands on his glasses, like a tulip on a grave.

He's dead, but Will can’t stop. There’s too much pressure on his chest, blood is too warm and reassuring.

He keeps hitting. It’s not that satisfying with such a small weapon, but it’s still effective. He keeps hitting the man’s back, even when his arms stay still, witnessing the man’s life force leaving him and his consciousness fading away like dew disappearing under the approaching warm daylight. His fingers are just a few millimeters away from the gun and won’t ever get any further.

“Will.”

Will Graham stops with his hand mid-air, breathing heavily, trembling for a moment. A familiar grip on his right shoulder and an umbrella over his head. There’s no need to look, he would recognize that presence in the most crowded place on earth.

“Will, he’s dead. You killed him”.

Will breathes heavily, his lips parted, his eyes fixed on the man’s bloody back. It’s pointless, but knowing Hannibal’s watching him he suddenly feels the urge to pull himself together. He swallows and finally manages to control his breath. Will washes the cutter in a puddle nearby and puts it back in his pocket, than looks up at Hannibal’s face.

“Are you hurt?”

_I missed your voice._

Will doesn't answer. He Avoids eye contact and gets up, checking himself, resting a hand on the wound on his left hip.

“Come, let's leave him here. The car is right on the other side of the road.”

Will walks before Hannibal, looking for the car, covering himself as best as he can with the coat. Rain helps cleaning the blood from his face. Night and rain are on their side, covering up their escape. Hannibal runs, covered under his umbrella, and gets in the car before him, sitting behind the steering wheel. Will throws himself on the seat next to him, suddenly feeling tired and sore. He passes a hand on his face, trying to wash away the pain and the dirt, removing his useless glasses, all drenched in rain and blood.

Hannibal starts drives calmly, a hand on the wheel. A lonely taxi surpasses them, floating in the unstopping rain.

“I’m sorry, Will. I should have come with you”.

“It wasn’t such a hard task you know, just had to withdraw some money, buy some stuff... figured I could make it on my own.”

He just needed time alone. Sometimes, Hannibal's constant presence just felt... too much.

“Yes, but we knew that he was tracking us. Just didn’t expect him to follow you like that”

“Well, he got what he deserved”.

For a moment, the only sound in the car was the tackling of the rain and the siren of an ambulance fading away in the distance.

“How did you find me?”, Will asks.

“I always know where to find you.” Hannibal’s voice is so sincere that Will laughs. He catches a glimpse of himself in the side mirror and notices new wrinkles on his forehead, and at the corner of his eyes. The laugh quickly disappear from his face, as soon as a thought hits him: the more he stays with him, the more he feels like they’re becoming even physically alike. It's just in a few details, in a series of gestures that they now have in common, but an experienced eye wouldn't miss it.

“You may want to know, he wasn’t alone. Maybe we underestimated him”.

“What? Who?”

“That policeman. You may be thinking that was his own initiative, but it wasn’t. He brought a colleague with him.” Hannibal straightens his spine, eyes locked on the street. “His friend was waiting for him to come out of that alley with you, he was watching, ready to intervene. He couldn’t make it in time”.

Will watches him, full of surprise.

“You killed him? Where’s the body?”

Hannibal looks at him for a moment, his statuesque face so piercing even in that dim light, then he turns back on the road.

Will understands.

“I could have made good use of your agent too, but you’ve been too harsh, my dear Will. That one was ruined”.

“Well, sorry. I know you’ll make a perfect dinner out of the one rotting in our trunk.” Will glances at him and finds a smile plastered over the corner of his lips. “Oh please… stop looking so amused”.

“I am elated”.

“You shouldn’t. That- that’s so annoying. They could have killed us, they could have caught us. They knew who we are and now two policemen are dead. We’ll have to move, we should start packing our things. Again”.

“You said you didn’t like it here. London is too crowded, too damp”.

“Yeah yeah yeah that’s not the point”.

“Why are you so angry, Will?” Will laughs, hysterically, but Hannibal ignores him. “You worry too much. I told you, there’s no need. You’re safe.” Hannibal stops the car near the flat that he booked for them, turning off the engine and looking directly at Will, an arm over the staring wheel. “We’re both safe”.

Will sighs, concerned, staring back at him.

The wound is still opened in his mind and in his subconscious and it stings. He remembers too well. The both of them almost bled to death after killing Francis Dolarhyde. That night, under an incredible full moon, he almost believed that it was over. All the suffering, the struggle, the uncertainty that marked the last years of his life. All gone with that last, liberating fall.

He turns to look ahead of him and passes two fingers on his own lips.

“Easier said than done. I’m not you, it’s not that simple for me. I just… can’t stop thinking”.

_Every time I look at you I still worry. I still look for a sign of pain, of discomfort, I can't even recognize myself anymore._

“Will”.

No need to look. Will feels Hannibal’s stare so clearly on his skin that it almost burns.

“Come, we need to disinfect that wound”.

“This is our life now, Will. I know, a lot of things have changed… you just need more time to get used to it.”

“It feels… odd”. Will curses with a breathy moan while taking off his coat. The flat is quite stylish, with big windows looking directly at the sky. They’re high, sometimes Will feels like floating on a lonely city, balancing on nothing. The view is breathtaking tho, Hannibal’s tastes have always been unremarkable. London’s gloomy night reflects on the furniture, while rain is just an unpleasant memory outside the windows.

“Ah… damn it”.

“Let me check”. Hannibal rolls up his sleeves and approaches, revealing his slender hands. He’s wearing a tie, but as soon as he comes closer he frees his neck, leaving the elegant cloth on the couch.

“How come you don’t even have a stain on you while I’m a mess”.

Hannibal smiles, crouching at Will’s feet while starting to check his bleeding wound. The Doctor lifts his shirt and lowers his pants, pulling the waistband of his boxers aside to reveal the tearing in Will's skin.

“It’s because you haven’t learned the technique. You’re too instinctive, too passionate while killing. Still, you’re a sight for sore eyes”.

Will frowns and stares at him, watching him work.

“It’s quite deep, we have to stop the bleeding. Maybe a few stitches will be needed”.

“Do your magic then”.

Will stays still, leaning his head back on the wall behind him. As soon as he closes his eyes, trying to avoid thinking about the burning on the wound, his mind starts wandering.

Before starting this new life abroad, he wasn’t used to actually live with another human being like Hannibal Lecter. Sharing every hour of the day with him, waking up and suddenly remembering that he wasn’t alone but in another country, living with the man that literally hunted him in every single nightmare he had in the past years, was intoxicating.

Even while living with him, Will never caught him sleeping. _Does he ever sleep?_ , he had thought. _He must be such a light sleeper. Or he just wakes up so early in the morning that I won't ever be able to cook breakfast before him._

There are two bedrooms in the flat, and Hannibal still let him sleep in the quieter one, away from the busy street underneath them.

 _This is what it feels_ , Will finds himself thinking. _This is what it feels, living behind the veil with him._

Overwhelming. Cruelty and tenderness mixed together so well that you can't even distinguish the flavours anymore.

Hannibal Lecter is no ordinary man, and Will usually gets really tired even of living with an extreme ordinary person. He needs time alone, he enjoys routine, an ordinary life, wake up, feed the dogs, kiss Molly, go to work… nothing of those things are part of his life anymore.

“I miss the dogs”. Words just leave his mouth without consent, maybe he’s falling asleep without noticing. Doctor Lecter’s hands stop for a moment.

“We can get a dog, as soon as we find one that you may like”.

Soothing. His tone of voice, his touch, everything about him is soothing. Will opens his eyes to look at him, to actually find a pivot to keep him anchored to this new reality.

Hannibal Lecter’s touch can be extremely painful or extremely caring, like a healing ointment. Everything about him is black or white, no in between, no half-measures.

Hannibal rarely touches him, so when that happens is much more effective. Every gesture of the man is well calculated, nothing is by pure chance.

Hannibal finishes his medication and stands up. The wound is clean now and the stitches keeps the skin together, under a thick gauze. The Doctor’s eyes wander for a moment on Will’s body.

“Take off that shirt, is ruined. We’ll buy another one”. Will automatically obeys. Hannibal then places a hand on the younger’s cheek, checking the bruise slowly surfacing on the skin. Will can’t help but look at him, lips closed, eyes wide open. Hannibal stares back, his hand lingering on the side of his face, his thumb slowly caressing under his eye.

“I had a family. You took them away from me. I had a house, a job… I had beliefs, moral principles. You washed away it all. That life is no more.” Will tries to keep a steady voice, but the feelings are too strong. He shakes a little. In Hannibal’s eyes appears a shadow that it’s hard to decipher. Resentment? Worry? Anger?

“Do you still feel like you’ve lost everything?”

Will hesitates, staring right at him.

“Yes”.

“So I am nothing to you”.

Will opens his mouth to answer, but Hannibal takes his breath away by placing both of his hands on the younger’s face, caressing his cheeks. His right hand then slowly follows his jawline, falling down to his neck, his thumb on Will’s Adam apple. And then Hannibal’s grip tightens.

“Wh- what are you-”

For the first time, Will sees a spark in his eyes that he has never noticed before. A transformation in his expression, a twisted sign of desire, of need. Maybe that instinct has always been there, hiding in the depths of Hannibal’s complex personality, waiting to be unleashed like all his other impulses, at the right time, with the right person.

Will is pure empathy.

Hannibal is pure instinct.

The older man holds him still by his neck, while his other hand goes down between their bodies, suddenly finding his way inside his boxers and grabbing his crotch with an unforgiving grip. Will jolts at that touch, starting to feel oppressed.

“W-wait…”

“Sometimes I still think you’re not fully aware of my feelings for you, Will”.

“I am, I truly am, but-”

“Just give in”.

Hannibal is taller and he knows too well what the older man’s body is capable of. When Hannibal’s human-mask falls, the “Monstro” inside is free to surface. Will is able to see it now: it is about to eat him alive.

  
  


He can’t move, he doesn’t want to or simply it’s too much to handle all at once so his surviving instinct just shuts down and tells him to to the same.

_Shut up, play dead._

Hannibal is breathing hard against his neck, lips just a millimeter away from the skin while his hand is working on both their hardnesses with a chocking grip, going up and down, over the tips and then back down again, eliciting jolts of excitement for the both of them.

“Ah…” a moan leaves Will’s lips while he closes his eyes and grits his teeth. Hannibal’s free hand finds its way on the back of his neck, holding onto his hair with a possessive tone.

“This is what you are, this is what we are.”

“No, no… you…”

He’s too much. Too much for him to handle. Hannibal Lecter is the most complex creature he ever met and just feeling so intimate with him, letting him expose and explore his body like that makes Will feel helpless. The amount of raw feelings Hannibal unleashes while turning him around by his hips and pressing his chest against the wall is overwhelming. Now Will is also breathing hard, both because of fear and the inevitable need coming from in between his legs, but when he feels Hannibal’s rock hard erection pressed against his back he freezes.

“Please…” his voice trembles, so he swallows and rests his forehead on the wall, trying not to panic.

“I know you better than anyone else, Will. You have to stop pretending.”

There’s no doubt about that. Hannibal Lecter’s mind works on so many different levels at the same time that there’s no way Will can compete. It’s a game he just can’t win.

_I know that you know. I know that only when I’m with you, I find my true self-_

“Ah!”

One finger inside, without much of a warning.

_Bastard._

Two fingers. He stretches methodically, aiming just at the right points to make him sweat and squirm with every push.

“N-no need to be this accurate… Doctor Lecter-”

He silences him adding a third finger.

“It is needed.”

There’s no way, no way he can escape. Hannibal pulls out his fingers and presses against him. He wants to look, so he turns Will’s face with two fingers. He needs to see his expression during the onslaught so Will looks back at him, breathing heavily from his nose. The position is uncomfortable, it feels weird, but Hannibal is too stubborn – and probably too experienced – to care. He looks at him with his implacable, indecipherable expression, his chest following his breath being just a little quicker than usual. He grabs Will’s ass with a hand, making space, while he holds him still by the hip, careful to not touch the fresh wound.

“Mh!”

In one single motion he’s inside. It’s with eyes open wide and gritted teeth that Will welcomes him in his body, feeling a burning stab of pain that makes him feral. Hannibal slides out slowly only to thrust back in again. He lowered his pants just enough to free his erection, while Will is completely naked. Will looks him straight in the eyes, growling as he just starts moving with decision, the younger’s chest hitting the wall more forcefully with every thrust.

Talking is pointless, so he just bites his tongue. Hannibal knows. He knows that it hurts, he knows that Will’s body is tensed, that he’s still trying to get away.

“Give in, Will, just give in”, he whispers in his ear, thrusting even harder while Will reaches back to scratch Hannibal’s hips with his fingernails.

Giving in to Hannibal, this is the usual for him. Letting him consume him to find a way to survive. It always feels like drowning at first, but then air comes back to his lungs and Will finds himself yet again alive.

Will closes his eyes. His mouth opens in a silent cry and after one, two, then three perfectly aimed thrusts, he moans.

Pleasure blooms from an unexpected place inside his core, making his back sweaty and his heart beat furiously in his chest. He looks back at Hannibal’s dark eyes for one more time and suddenly they’re both aware that something new is growing between them. A new level of understanding and intimacy is finally under their reach and it’s hard to resist.

Hannibal’s forehead is now glowing in the dark because of the thin layer of sweat caused by his efforts. Will holds onto the wall and bits his own lips, feeling the end approaching rapidly, too rapidly. He’s not used to being used like that, so when Hannibal throws him off the wall and pushes him in Will’s bedroom, on the cold sheets, he just goes with it, following his demands. Instantly Hannibal is back between his legs and inside him, harder than before, faster, deeper, and Will cries out.

There’s no way he will last.

Hannibal is still wearing the white, stainless shirt with sleeves rolled up. Will wants more, since there’s nothing covering him now and it just feels unfair. His neck is flushed, his chest is sweaty and still a little bloody: Hannibal’s eyes are devouring every inch of him, so he decides he wants his part. With a shaky hand he reaches to unbutton the Doctor’s shirt, almost ripping the fabric to reveal his body. He looks. Hannibal’s muscles are tensed, his stomach stiffens with every thrust. There’s a dark scar marking his skin. Just a few months ago, Francis Dolarhyde placed a bullet in him. Will passes his hand on it, feeling the little roughness, then he growls and holds onto the elder’s man hip for dear life, losing lucidity with every thrust. His nails scratches, trying to hurt. The more that man gives him pleasure, the more he feels helpless, exposed, at his mercy, and this makes him angry.

Hannibal’s watches him with implacable eyes, pushing his hand away and anchoring Will’s wrist to the pillow.

They look at each other, as Hannibal slows down but goes deeper. Will closes his mouth, trying to not make a sound, but he just can’t. With every stab of Hannibal’s hips, he moans.

A final spark of pride grows in his chest. With his free hand he holds onto Hannibal’s neck. He just tightens the grip gradually, mimicking the older man’s gesture from before.

_We are the two sides of the same coin._

“Mh-”

_Different… oh so different… but so inevitably connected…_

“Ah!”

Hannibal throws his shirt away, just to press against him more.

_He’s close too._

Hannibal’s thrusts become erratic, less precise but he manages to keep a breathtaking persistence, a surgical aim that drives Will insane.

The younger throws his head back and growls as he comes, with just a touch of Hannibal’s hand, receiving his last thrusts. And as Hannibal is coming, gasping for air and blinded by the pleasure just as the younger’s man, Will leans forward and kisses him.

Forcefully.

Will fell asleep. Maybe he just fainted. No dream came to visit him during the night. It was just a dark, motionless, soundless rest.

When he opens his eyes, morning is rising from the depths of the city and sliding through the windows and into the room like liquid gold. The sky is clear.

Will’s finds himself still naked, half covered with the sheets. He passes a hand in his messy hair and looks around. Hannibal appears to greet him from the door. He changed clothes and probably had a shower. His hair is growing longer and longer every day since he left the prison and he looks damn fine, even if he lost some weight and there are a few new wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. Will can’t help but return his smile.

Hannibal comes closer, sitting on the edge of the bed while he adjust his shirt.

“Good morning”.

“Mmmh…”

“I was waiting for you to wake up”.

“Really…”

Hannibal places a hand on his face, caressing with his thumb. That simple gesture makes Will blink and slightly tense, but just for a brief moment. He then gives in to the touch, resting his cheek against the fresh palm of the Doctor’s hand.

Hannibal leans closer and checks the bruise on Will’s face.

“I’m fine…” he looks away, already feeling too close. Slowly his body is remembering what happened during the night. It feels good, finally having knocked down that wall between them, but it also makes him exposed. Like there’s nowhere to hide.

“I’m glad to hear that. Still, you should have put some ice on this bruise”. Hannibal whispers. He knows that Will doesn't like loud noises in the morning. Without leaving him any chance to shrink back, Hannibal leans closer. Their mouth meets and Will suddenly feels their tongues coming in touch.

“Mmh...” Will can feel Hannibal's smile on his own mouth.

“I still haven’t showered… I stink”.

Hannibal doesn’t seem to care. He just stands up and leaves for a moment. He grabs a clean towel and a basin from the bathroom, filling it with fresh water, and turns back to Will. He sits next to him on the bed while Will rests his back against the pillows, covering his pelvis with the sheets. Hannibal dips the towel in the water and then starts washing Will’s torso and neck, taking his time, without saying a word.

The younger stares at him and doesn’t move an inch. He feels like Hannibal’s making one of his beautiful drawings. Interrupting him would be a shame.

“My cunning boy”.

“Is this what it feels like… living behind the veil?” Will whispers, letting him clean his shoulders.

“There’s no veil between me and you, since a long time ago. This is a place that exists only for you and me. It never existed before, and it will never be for anyone else but us. This is the place where you can stay all the time that you want”.

“With you?”

“Yes”. Hannibal leaves the towel in the water and puts his hand on Will’s belly, passing his thumb along the edges of his old scar.

“I could ran away. After that night… when I woke up and you were still unconscious. I could have just ran away, leaving you there”.

“But you stayed, Will”.

“…after all you’ve done to me…”

“Your actions have been indeed much more eloquent than any word”.

They look at each other.

“Yes”.

“You understand now that you’re just more. You’re more than them, much more than the people you left behind. You chose me because you felt that your place is at my side”. Hannibal places the palm of his hand on Will’s ear, caressing his cheek and hair. “Since then, you’ve protected us. So…” Hannibal sighs “I just want to believe that you’ll keep doing it, Will. _Per sempre_ ”.

“What does that mean”.

“It means forever”.

Will smiles.

“I like it. How it sounds”.

Hannibal smiles back and straightens his spine, preparing his speak.

“ _A l’alta fantasia qui mancò possa;_

_ma già volgeva il mio disio e ‘l velle,_

_sì come rota ch’igualmente è mossa,_

_l’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle_ ”.

Will listens, trying to capture some sense in between those unknown words, but after a few moments Hannibal starts to explain.

“It’s the end of Dante’s _Commedia_. After seeing God, Dante is overwhelmed and feels one with everything that exists around him. He feels that the power which moves everything in the world is now guiding his desires and his mind. The last thing he mentions are the stars, that always represent the final aim of his journey.”

“And what is it, this mysterious power that moves everything?” Will asks.

“Love”.

Hannibal’s lectures are always incredibly enlightening.

While watching his relaxed features, the elegant curve of his nose and lips, Will thinks he’s-

“You’re beautiful, Will”.

Will laughs, looking away.

Of course he had to say it first.

“Maybe we should go back to Italy. Maybe we should go to the sea this time. You seem to miss all that… _italiano_ lifestyle and stuff”.

“Maybe we should”.


End file.
